


The Lewd Act of Anonymous Hand Holding

by Thette



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, No Sex, Rated For Violence, Sharing Clothes, anonymous hand holding, hand holding, sara's blood lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 18:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16001015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: See that meme about a glory hole for hand holding? That screamed Captain Canary pre-Legends, so I wrote the thing. This goes no further than the show.





	The Lewd Act of Anonymous Hand Holding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentMaryMargaretSkitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMaryMargaretSkitz/gifts), [SophiaCatherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/gifts).



> This is my first Captain Canary fic, so thanks to everyone for dragging me into another ship! You know who you are.
> 
> Thanks to shewhowalksunseen for the beta!

_Blood flowing sluggishly beneath her hands, bones crunching, the rattle of a dying man’s last breath._

Sara shook her head. Calm breaths. She held the door open with a false smile, disregarding the dude in a ballcap who bumped into her and triggered the vision. See? She was getting better already. This blood lust thing? A walk in the park.

When she was done lying to herself, she lined up in the coffee shop, getting one large mocha latte for herself and one for Laurel. Laurel insisted on sisterly bonding, and she couldn't exactly decline. She'd been dead. And then they had brought her back, feral and blood thirsty, and shoved her soul back down her throat. Sometimes, she could still feel the edges where her soul didn't quite fit anymore, but she could call up a smile for her beloved sister, pretend everything was okay.

What she wanted, more than anything, was a cuddle, but she couldn't let anyone put themselves in danger by coming close to her. She had withdrawn even from Laurel's touches, afraid that the smallest thing could set her off again.

There. Coffee in hand, smile on her face, ready to pretend that everything was okay.

***

Afterwards, she was exhausted. She walked the long route home, always keeping an eye out for potential pursuers. Her steps brought her across the Starling University campus, not renamed yet. 

"Excuse me, ma'am, do you want to talk about touch starvation?" The student asking her was short, his brown eyes ernest and kind. 

"Not particularly, no." She tried to keep it short, but he was on a mission, and didn't seem to register her "no" or her murder stare.

"We're grad students in psychology, and we're informing the public about how human touch is one of the foundations for mental wellbeing. When was the last time you touched another person for more than a minute?" 

Points for tenacity, and for sheer guts. She was impressed, and decided to give him a chance. 

She thought back. Laurel had wanted a hug when she left, she could tell, but she'd managed to sneak off before her sister could ask. Before that?

"Two months," she said, eventually. When she'd been brought back. She assumed they were asking about friendly touches, not about her choking a security guard.

"This is not a scientific study, and we're not sanctioned by the university, but we offer a way to enjoy physical contact anonymously. This," he gestured to the shoddy structure behind him, "is a hand holding booth. You come in through this door, sit on the chair, and extend your hand through the hole in the wall. Someone else does the same thing on the other side, and you can hold hands anonymously. No talking, nothing but handholding. Or, if you'd prefer, we're also offering free hugs."

She raised her eyebrow. "Hand holding, you say. I know enough about men to recognize a glory hole when I hear about one."

He laughed, obviously uncomfortable. "We don't record anything in those booths, but we do have a camera directed at the holes from within the wall. Anything that's not a hand or an arm comes through, we call campus security right away." 

"And how many times have you had to do that?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "Five times today."

She laughed, feeling relieved. His honesty made the whole pitch so much better. "Sure, I'm in. Now that I know I won't get an unexpected dick in my hand." She winked at him. "Not that I mind dicks, but that's not how I want to find them."

He actually blushed as he lifted the curtain and showed her in. Aww, cute. 

The chair was padded, with armrests at just the right height to put her hand into the small, fabric-covered hole in the wall. Whoever had built this weren't exactly architects or construction engineers, but they did care about her comfort. She sat down, took a deep breath, and put her left hand through.

Another hand was moving on the other side. An obviously male hand, with long, blunt fingers stroking across hers. He kept moving, running those well-kept and very short nails across her knuckles. A man who cared about his partner's comfort, clearly. He could get it, she thought, and dismissed the idea immediately. She knew nothing about him, and that was what she wanted. She wanted touch, connection without obligation.

Apparently finding what he was looking for, those fingers slipped between hers and seemed to come to a rest. She squeezed his hand softly, and he returned the pressure. His thumb was still moving, gently exploring the meat of her palm and the tendons running from wrist to thumb. She dragged her own thumb up towards his index finger. Smooth skin, someone who cared about his hands. No calluses. A flat ring on the pinky finger, cold and hard.

The hand was moving again, but not withdrawing. He switched grips, and cupped her hand in his, squeezing again. She responded, by holding on to him a little firmer. His thumb came up against the pulse point in her wrist, gently tapping when he felt her rapidly beating heart.

Sara felt like she could do this forever. She knew nothing about him, but she already felt a strong connection, like she would do almost anything to keep him safe, to keep him near. There was no history in this touch, nothing she had ruined by being her violent self, but she could almost imagine a future.

Two taps, with his index and middle fingers on her knuckles. Two more, and he was withdrawing. She gave his fingertips one last squeeze, and could feel him waving her off.

If she hadn't been an assassin, she would never have heard him leave. His steps were soft, and he moved without the rustle of clothes. Like a thief in the night, she joked to herself, and counted the seconds. A full minute after he had left, she walked out, feeling energized and calm. She was getting better at this. The blood lust wasn't going to be easy to conquer, but she could do it. If she could touch a stranger without wanting him dead, she could touch her friends, too.

***

"I may not like you, but at least I'm not dying alone," Sara said, her breath steaming above the goosebumps covering her muscular arms.

Len smirked, more for himself than for her. His… fascination with her was no secret. That word was the only one he was prepared to use for his feelings, everything else felt childish or overwrought. 

A deck of cards in his pocket spoke of her lie. She was just as drawn to him as he was to her. She would often seek him out, even when she had no reason for it other than the pleasure of his company. They'd played so many games of poker, they could both read the other's poker face and were far too familiar with the other's strategies and cheats. Eventually, they had agreed to switch to Old Maid instead. She was a formidable opponent at both. Her brilliant mind and subterfuge was a match for his quick fingers, perfect recall and observation skills. 

The near death situation seemed to call for a confession, and there was something he'd wanted to tell her ever since the… incident in Star City.

"Closest I ever came to dying was… the day I met Mick." His words felt like molasses, slow and heavy, not just from the cold.

"Why does that not surprise me?" 

He told her the story, filled with bitterness and regret, and a bit of nostalgia. He could tell her this, painful as it was, could tell her why he still cared for his partner, even after everything. Mick burned hot, but he burned out. He'd come back, not bothering with things like forgiveness or amends. His temper was nothing like Len's own cold fury, lying in wait like black ice on an autumn road.

Just like his anger, his love, if you could call it that, was cold and dangerous. The circle of people he cared about was small. First Lisa, then Mick, then nobody else for decades. A certain speedster in red leather had broken through his defences, made him want to do something different, and before he knew it, the list had expanded uncontrollably. It wasn't so much that the team had thawed his frozen heart, but they were  _ his _ now. His to protect. His to take care of, by making sure they had all the best possible plans. And Sara? She was special. Made him want to think about things he'd long thought were impossible. Not settling down, exactly; there was no white picket fence in his future. But something more than mutual pleasure, something not quite as calculating and fleeting as the encounters he was used to.

When she started shivering uncontrollably, he wrapped his leather jacket around her shoulders, and she gave him a shaky smile in response. She knew what those smiles did to him. She knew about his attraction, and she took every chance she got to shoot him down. A good man would leave her alone, but only one person had ever called him good.

They were hugging themselves, trying in vain not to let the thin air leach warmth from their bodies. His hands were shaking, much as he tried to stop it with his considerable willpower. She scooted closer until she sat behind him, her breasts warm against his back, and slipped her fingers between his from the back of his hands. Small hands, that held so much determination. Slender fingers, soft palms, and beautifully defined tendons. The way her hands moved against his brought back a memory.

"It was you!" He crossed his arms, pulling hers along until he could reach across with his right hand to her left. Two gentle taps with the tip of his index and middle fingers on her knuckles, the way he always used his hands to gesticulate.

"You!" she replied, her breath warm by his ear. "What were you doing at Starling U?"

"On my way to steal a pair of Moira Queen's earrings. Happened to pass by, and was accosted by a very energetic grad student. I admit, I'd been feeling lonely since I broke out of Iron Heights. Thought no one would ever know."

"What, that the mighty Captain Cold wanted to hold hands in the dark?" She sounded more amused than sarcastic, so he let the jibe go. 

He leaned back, letting his head rest on her strong shoulders. Her heat was delicious, even if he normally wasn't bothered by the cold. 

"I have an image to maintain, you know. It's not easy to control the villains of Central City if they know you want something as simple as a hand to hold."

She scoffed, clearly not impressed, but leaned her head down towards his and pulled him even closer. 

"So you ran, instead?"

"Wouldn't say that I ran. I just… wanted something else. Something more. I grew tired of the petty bickering. Santinis here, Russians there, Rogues coming in as new players, blah blah blah. Only thing I regret is not taking Lisa."

"Tell me about her?" she asked, and he did. He talked about Lisa, about their childhood, about how tempted he had been to kill his own father back in the seventies, but how he'd refrained, because he needed Lisa in his life. To his surprise, he wanted to tell Sara things, wanted her to know his secrets, and she seemed to want to listen. Neither of them found a reason to let go. They sat in the cold, huddled close and holding hands, until they were once again disturbed by the Boy Scout and the birdie.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on Tumblr, where I am [bold-sartorial-statement](http://bold-sartorial-statement.tumblr.com). Captain Canary (or Captain Captain, as I prefer to call them) is not my primary ship, though.


End file.
